


The Dead Ringer

by peggy_lane



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, M/M, Multi, spn_cinema
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peggy_lane/pseuds/peggy_lane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha was the best private investigator in Los Angeles until he married Jared and his billions. Now, between spending his husband's money, drinking to excess, and bantering with Jared like it's his job, life is too full for anything like real work. Enter Jensen Ackles, his missing father, eccentric family, and possible mob connections…and you have a case for murder that may be juicy enough to bring Misha out of retirement. [Written for spn_cinema, based on <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0025878/">The Thin Man</a>.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dead Ringer

~*~

So many eyes tracked Jared as he walked the length of the pool, Misha figured he could pay for a day’s worth of drinks if he charged admission for the view. Jared was surely aware of his audience, and he milked the attention for all it was worth in his tight blue swim trunks and newly acquired California tan. He didn’t hesitate when he climbed the ladder and ran the length of the board to spring seamlessly into a textbook perfect dive, all long lines and hard muscle. He bobbed up and shook the water from his hair like a glorious Labrador before tossing a knowing look Misha's way as if to ask, enjoying the show?

Misha was enjoying the show, very much, maybe as much as he was enjoying his third Bloody Mary. The Beverly Hills Hotel prided itself on exceptional service, but it had taken the bartender a couple of tries to get Misha's very particular Bloody Mary requirements _just so_. Now that she had, Misha felt honor bound to express his appreciation by drinking as many as possible.

The glass was nearly empty, and Misha felt too lazy to pour a new one from the pitcher that sat on the side table, so he watched Jared a while longer before leaning back in the lounger to wait for a server to come by. It was a rough life.

He'd just closed his eyes for a nap – it had been a late night after all – when he felt a long shadow fall over him, silently chilling the warmth of the sunlight that spilled into the private poolside cabana.

Maybe if I'm very, very still, whoever it is will go away, Misha thought, as he settled in to wait the shadow out. When the shadow didn't budge, Misha opened one eye, hidden behind mirrored aviator shades, to see if it was Jared playing some kind of game. While the form wasn't clear, backlit as it was by the late morning sun, it was definitely large and definitely male. Still, Misha would know his husband anywhere and this wasn't Jared. Heaving a put upon sigh, he gestured to the table.

"Make yourself useful, will you? Pour me another Bloody Mary."

Shadow Man made a noise, which might have been a choked laugh, but could have been phlegm, and did as he was asked, handing Misha his drink before taking a seat next to the lounger.

"You're Misha Collins," the man said.

Wonderful. Now he’d have to figure out how Shadow Man knew him and what he wanted. It was always something.

"The very one," Misha affirmed. "Though it's Misha Padalecki-Collins these days."

"Very domestic."

"Mm. Don't tell the Missus, though. He still thinks it's Misha Collins-Padalecki."

"Sounds dodgy."

"It's a cause of constant strife in an otherwise perfect marriage."

"I heard you retired from the detective business," Shadow Man said.

"To take on the arduous task of managing the billions I married my husband for."

"Somehow, I doubt that's the case."

"I beg your pardon? I manage those billions beautifully." Misha made a gesture to indicate the luxury that surrounded them. "Can't you tell?"

"I doubt that's why you married him."

"Well, he's not hard to look at and he's a beast between the sheets, but don't tell him I said so. It'd just go to his head."

"You don't know who I am, do you?"

Misha looked over then, pushed up his shades, and gave Shadow Man the once over. And then the twice-over. Not bad.

"No, but I'd like to."

The man laughed, revealing a Hollywood smile that crinkled his eyes. They were a beautiful green, his skin was freckled but tan. Not bad at all.

"I'm Jensen Ackles," he said.

"Jeff's son?"

"That's me. All grown up. Remember when you used to bounce me on your knee?"

"You wound me, or you would have if I'd bounced you on my knee." Misha took a judicious sip of his Bloody Mary. "Weren’t you in college the last time I saw you?"

"That's right. I was wasting my time at UCLA on the five year plan and lusting over the private eye my father hired to investigate, who was it?" He mused as he leaned back in his chair. "I can't recall."

Misha waved his hand. "I’m not sure. Some patent thief, I assume. I did a lot of work for Jeff."

"Not lately, though."

"Not for a few years, since Jared made an honest man of me."

"Well, you made quite an impression," Jensen admitted. "The brave private eye who wouldn't let the dastardly criminal get away with stealing dad’s latest computer whatchamacallit."

"Was that nearly ten years ago?" Misha asked. "God. I remember you now. You were adorable. Why didn't I sleep with you, again?"

"Probably something boring, like professionalism."

"How quaint. For the record, I'm over that now."

"And how does the other Mr. Collins-Padalecki…"

"Padalecki-Collins."

"Excuse me. How does Mr. Padalecki-Collins feel about that?"

"He's a trust fund baby. He abhors professionalism in all its forms."

"Speaking of professionalism…"

"We were not."

"It's a segue, go with it." Jensen shifted in his seat as his expression furrowed into something worried, maybe a little sad; he leaned in closer to rest a hand on the lounger. Misha couldn't help but think this may have been done for effect. "It's about my dad."

"Handsome, one might say grizzled, brilliant mind, wandering eye."

"Yeah, that's the list," Jensen agreed. "I haven't heard from him in almost three months and I'm starting to worry."

"Doesn’t sound so unusual for Jeff."

"He’s never gone this long without at least a call." Jensen placed a hand on Misha's thigh, just above the knee but near enough to the goods to be considered inappropriate by anybody keeping score. "I was wondering if you could check into it for me?"

"Check into what?"

It was Jared, all six foot something of him (Misha thought it would be rude to keep count), big and wet and smiling at Jensen like he was candy in a bowl. He reached for a towel behind Jensen and pulled a face; it was his scrunched up nose, _well what have we here, this looks like fun, can I bring him home, Daddy, please,_ face. Misha waited until Jensen turned toward Jared to stick his tongue out in response.

Jared flashed his brightest megawatt grin at Jensen, all dimples and white teeth. They were shark teeth, but Misha didn't see any reason to warn Jensen about that. He didn't know what Jared was thinking – was Jensen the big fish or the bait? It'd be fun to find out.

"My father," Jensen replied. He started to stand, possibly in an attempt to meet Jared on solid ground, but Jared waved him back down and walked over to sit on the edge of the lounger. "He's been missing a while. Misha used to do some work for him sometimes. I was seeing if maybe he'd help."

"And I was about to tell him, sorry, I'm not in the father-finding business anymore. Oh, and Jared, Jensen. Jensen, Jared," he said by way of introduction.

Jared looked at Misha. "But it should be easy enough, if you worked with him before. You should help."

Misha felt his expression sour as he realized his glass was nearly empty again. How the hell did that keep happening?

"We're on vacation," Misha said. "Jeff'll turn up. It's no big deal."

Jared glared at Misha's glass. "How many of those have you had?"

"Four."

Jared turned his attention to Jensen. "Will you do me a big favor?" He asked, all charm. "Go order another pitcher from that nice bartender, two if you plan on joining us. Be sure to get five glasses for me. I need to even the score."

Jensen was so busy staring at Jared it took him a beat to catch up. Misha had seen the look before – sometimes it took newbies a few minutes to take Jared all in. "Um, sure," he said, finally, excusing himself to head to the bar.

Jared turned to Misha and spoke in a hurry. "He's gorgeous, tell me everything."

"That's Jensen Ackles. His father is Jeffrey Dean Morgan-"

"The inventor?"

"Yes, he's-"

"Different last names?"

"I believe Ackles is the last name of a stepfather. No, it was a stage name. I can't really remember. That family's crazy. Who knows what all they get up to?"

"They sound like fun."

"It's not a Padalecki family picnic, but they'll do."

Jared leaned in to drop a kiss to the tip of Misha's nose. "Go on."

"So, Daddy Morgan's been gone a few months and Jensen wants to find him," Misha said mildly as he tucked a strand of damp hair behind Jared's ear. "Probably needs money."

"Cynic."

"That's why you love me."

"No," Jared corrected. "I love you because you make me look good. We've been over this before, sweetie."

"I'm not sweet, I'm sour."

"You're a big marshmallow, and you will help that hottie find his father."

"Why?"

"Did you miss the 'hottie' part? Besides, it'll be fun. You're bored out of your mind here."

"We're on vacation. I'm supposed to be bored out of my mind. It's the whole point."

Jared brushed his long fingers up Misha's thigh, digging in just a little over the patch of skin where Jensen had placed his hand, and leered, half seductive, half comical. "That's not the point of vacation, baby."

"Have mercy, Jared. I'm an old man," Misha begged, though his dick did express interest. "I need to come up for air every now and then."

"Air and Bloody Marys."

"I'll drink to that."

"If Jensen ever comes back with that order." It was as if Jared could read his mind, and Misha regarded him fondly. Sometimes he felt like he must have the goofiest grin on his face. He practiced a downward turn of his lips to counteract it. Jared smiled and turned his gaze to the poolside bar.

"Fuck," he said. "It's Chad."

Misha's lips took a downward turn for real. Fucking Chad.

"What's he doing here?"

"Right now? He's flirting with your new client."

"He's not my...wait, what?" Misha exclaimed. "Gross."

"I don't know. Jensen seems into it."

Misha refused to look. It was too distressing for someone as pretty as Jensen Ackles to be caught even breathing the same air as Chad Michael Murray, much less flirting.

"Will this hell never end?"

"There, there, it'll be all right." Jared swung around to recline next to his husband. He pulled his shades down and squirmed into position, bumping against Misha with his absurdly long limbs and ridiculous muscles, to watch the show and report a play-by-play.

"Chad's working all his best moves," Jared said. "The big smile, scrunchy eyes, moving in just a little too close."

"Those aren't good moves."

"They are for Chad. Jensen does this thing where he looks down, then peers up through his girly eyelashes."

"Know your strengths," Misha said. "And don't forget the booze." He was starting to feel forlorn over the missing drinks.

"Yep," Jared proclaimed. "He's definitely flirting back."

"Should we warn him about Murray?"

"He's a big boy. Besides, you won't even help him find his missing father. What do you care?"

"I care."

"You do not. You're heartless."

"You said I was sweet," Misha reminded him. "And Morgan's fine. This disappearing act isn't unusual."

"But Jensen's worried. Can't you at least make some calls?"

Jared had that look, half puppy, half mule, and Misha knew he wasn't going to win this one.

"Fine. I can call Jeff's lawyer, see what he's heard."

"I've already talked to Jim." It was Jensen, returned with a huge tray of chilled glasses. Chad was hot on his heels with a second tray, loaded down with two big pitchers of, well, Nirvana, as far as Misha was concerned.

"Pour," Misha commanded Chad.

"Nice to see you, too."

Jared grinned. "You'd best mind the master. He's starting to get the shakes."

Chad set about the task of filling the glasses, five for Jared, one each for everyone else. "They're sending another pitcher soon," he assured them. "Who's Jim?"

"Jim Beaver," Jensen answered. "My father's attorney."

Chad snorted. "Beaver."

"Really?" Jared asked.

"Come on, it's funny."

Jensen stared at Chad, openly bewildered.

"Oh, he's real," Misha said.

"And he's got the sense of humor of a twelve year old."

"You picked him," Misha reminded his husband.

Jared took offense. "When _I_ was twelve. I haven't been able to shake him."

"I'm right here, guys."

Misha took a long, happy swallow from his Bloody Mary. Next to him, Jared gulped his down like he was in a competition at a kegger. He smacked his lips when he finished and reached for glass number two.

Jensen was doing some awkward flirting thing with his eyes. Well, it wasn't awkward, really, so much as it was…directed toward Chad, which Misha counted as a tragedy.

"What did Jim have to say?" Misha asked.

Jensen shrugged. "Not much. He hasn't heard from Dad either, but he says he must have access to his accounts from wherever he is since the money's all coming through."

"Who to?"

"Who to what?"

"Oh, I know this game," Jared said, reaching for his third drink.

"Who does the money go to?"

"Well, Dad manages the business accounts, of course. But Jim’s concern would have been his retainer, and my monthly stipend, I guess, since I was the one asking."

"See!" Jared waved a finger toward Jensen in triumph. "He's not after his dad for money if he's still getting his stipend."

Misha patted Jared on the knee and soldiered on. "Who inherits if anything happens to your father?"

"Me, I guess."

Chad moved his chair closer to Jensen. "Oh? How much?"

"Smooth, Chad. Very smooth," Jared said, raising his glass in a lazy salute.

Jensen grimaced and wiped some excess Bloody Mary from his mouth.

"So, you talked to Jim," Misha said. "Anybody else?"

"No. I tried to contact Dad's old assistant, but he moved back to Spain a few months ago, and I haven’t been able to reach him."

"This is Javier, I take it?" Misha said.

"Yes, he worked with Dad for years. If anybody would know his whereabouts, it’d be Javier."

"He still the spitting image of dear old dad?"

"Yeah."

"That was always kind of spooky," Misha said. "What about Julia Wolf? She still around?"

Jensen expressed his feelings on the subject of Julia Wolf in the form of a full body shudder. "Yeah, she and my dad are still together as far as I know, for whatever that’s worth, but I didn't try to contact her directly. Jim said he'd talk to her."

"I assume she's one of the financial obligations your father's still taking care of."

"Oh, yeah," Jensen said, his tone bitter but dull. "We'd all have heard about it by now if she wasn't getting hers."

Misha considered the new information as he watched his husband down Bloody Mary number three and reach for four. Jared looked at it long and hard before belching theatrically and diving in.

"Impressive," Jensen murmured, and he looked like he meant it. Misha practiced the downward turn of his lips. If you were going to hang with the Padalecki-Collins', it was important to appreciate class.

"So, Misha claims to manage the money," Jensen said. "What do you do, Jared?"

Jared seemed surprised by the question. It was rare to see him at a loss for words, and Misha took pity. "It's okay, dear. Take your time."

Chad piped up, "He's a philanderer."

"Philanthropist," Jared corrected. His slur was barely noticeable.

"Whatever. All I know's, they have so much money they spend most of their time figuring out how to give it away, but it never comes around to me."

"What about you, Jensen?" Misha asked. "I'm sure you were majoring in something fascinating at UCLA."

"I work in development at one of the studios. I was taking a meeting here this morning when I spotted you from across the pool."

"You work behind the camera?" Jared asked, sounding unbearably sad. "That's a shame, what with your face and all. You belong in front of it."

Jensen ducked his head. Misha gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed it was the sun that turned him pink. "It never took. But thank you."

Chad looked put-out. "Yeah, Jared's a real sweetheart," he said and placed his hand on Jensen's knee. Jensen didn't move it, or recoil in horror, so Misha could only assume the poor man was touched in the head.

"Why don't we blow this joint?" Chad said to Jensen. "Misha can make his calls and we can spend a few hours on the golf course."

Misha was prepared to help Jensen with an excuse to avoid this terrible fate, but Jensen just smiled and placed his hand over Chad's. "Sure, sounds good."

Misha choked on his drink and Jared patted his back. "It'll be all right," he stage whispered. "It's best for him to suffer through the Chad experience all at once, like pulling off a Band-Aid."

"Still here," Chad said.

But not for long. He and Jensen both rose to take their leave. Misha considered standing too, to give them a manly handshake goodbye, but the thought was fleeting. Jared was three sheets to the wind, at least, and starting to cling. Misha didn't think he had the energy to move, anyway. Jensen and Chad were already waving their goodbyes before he could test it out.

"You'll let me know what you hear?" Jensen called back.

"Absolutely. You know where to find me."

"Bungalow number twelve," Jared said. "Come by any time."

Misha made a mental note to call on some contacts that afternoon and settled in for a lazy hour or two of making out with his husband. Yeah, life was pretty rough.

 

~*~

 

Jared felt confident Misha had already taken _The Case of the Disappearing Daddy_. Misha just didn’t know it yet, which wasn't so unusual. He ended up ass first in all sorts of trouble without realizing it. It was pretty much how Jared landed him in the first place.

"We should go out for drinks," Misha said. "See and be seen."

Sadie whimpered and buried her head in her paws. One vote against, then. Jared scratched her between the ears. Only four months free from the shelter, the fifty pound mutt was already accustomed to expressing her opinion and having it respected. Jared was determined to take her side in the matter.

"But it's after ten already."

"So?"

"What if Jensen comes by?"

Misha rolled his eyes and measured out a gin and tonic. It was obvious he wasn't going to win this one, though his refusal to give up the fight was nothing short of adorable.

"Jim's stopping by tomorrow," Misha said. "Jensen can come then."

"You didn't even get his number."

"I got it from Jim. I'll call in the morning."

"You do care."

Jared batted his eyelashes but gave up quickly, fearing from Misha's reaction it was more seizurey than seductive. He joined his husband at the bar and started mixing daiquiris.

"I married a girly-drink drunk."

Misha always sounded so put out when he said it, Jared sometimes added little umbrellas to amplify the effect. He leaned down for a kiss, slow and sweet, and sort of tipsy, their specialty. It was going well enough that he was sure the idea of going out for the night was forgotten when there was a knock at the door.

Jared pulled back. "Who could that be?"

Misha walked over to answer it. "If it's fucking Chad, I'll kill him."

There was another knock, louder this time.

"Be nice."

"He's not staying. I hate that guy."

"You can't go to heaven with hate in your heart," Jared said in a pitch-perfect imitation of his Aunt Cathy.

"Wherever I go, I'm dragging you with me, so be sure to wear flame-retardant underwear."

"Wouldn't it be simpler to go commando?"

The smile he received as his answer could best be described as lecherous.

The knocking at the door took on a quick staccato rhythm. "Hold your horses," Misha said, opening it to a very much worse for the wear Jensen Ackles.

"The prodigal son has returned," Jared said, moving forward to greet him.

Jensen’s face was all determined concentration when he pointed his finger. "Jared!" He pointed at Misha. "Misha!" He looked down at Sadie, who was standing on her Gucci dog bed and eyeing him with suspicion. "Dog!"

If a dog could roll its eyes, well. Sadie turned tail and walked to the master bedroom, clearly not up for this brand of nonsense.

"Good job," Misha said, waving a hand in front of Jensen's face. "You smell like a back alley."

"I've been in an alley. I think. Well, there was a club and it had an alley. Chad's weird."

He was shit-faced. Jared wondered if the night could get any better.

"Have a seat before you tip over."

Jared stepped behind Jensen to place his hands at his waist and walk him to the sofa. Well, half walk, half manhandle. Misha watched the proceedings with a raised brow.

"Get him some water," Jared said.

Jensen landed in a heap on the sofa. "Oh, soft."

"Yes, very."

Misha twisted the cap off a bottled water and handed it to Jensen.

"Thank you. You're both so, so nice," Jensen said. Misha had a point – the man smelled like the back side of a brewery.

"You're so, so drunk." Jared patted his head. Jensen leaned into it, a happy sigh escaping his lips.

"Yes."

"Rank amateur," Misha said.

"I think you're right," Jensen replied. "I should go pro."

"It takes years of practice and you have to start young," Misha told him. "It may be too late for you."

"Don't be discouraging." Jared took a seat next to Jensen and looped an arm around his shoulders. "It's never too late to start."

"You're so, so nice," Jensen said again, right before he face-planted onto Jared's shoulder. He only stayed planted a second before he bounced back up and shook his head.

Jared curled his free hand over Jensen’s and pushed the water bottle to his mouth in an easy motion. Jensen gulped down the water with unquestioning obedience borne of extreme inebriation before setting it aside and lolling against Jared. He reached a hand to Misha. At Jared's nod, Misha took it and let it swing between them.

"What a rotten night," Jensen slurred.

"You were with Chad." Misha pulled his hand out of Jensen's to sit at his other side.

"No, that was all right. I'm used to the type."

"You poor thing," Jared said, reaching around Jensen to pinch Misha's side. Misha leaned back to throw him a glare.

"I went to my mother's earlier, to let her know you were looking into Dad's whereabouts, Misha."

"Yeah? How's Samantha doing these days?"

"Same as ever, but her husbands keep getting sleazier and sleazier." The words ran together in a slur, _shleashier_ and _shleashier_. "I mean, the latest one sucks."

"What's his name?" Misha asked.

Jared beamed. Clearly, his husband was on the case.

"Mark Sheppard. He had the nerve to ask me if I'd take care of my mom financially when I inherited. When? Dad's not dead yet as far as we know. Am I right?"

"Absolutely." Jared massaged comforting circles along Jensen's back.

"Not to mention his son, Vincent."

"Whose son?"

"Mark's. My stepbrother. Try to keep up."

"What about him?" Misha prompted.

"Hmm?"

"Vincent? You don't like him?"

"He's creepy; still lives at home even though he must be pushing thirty. Always talking about serial killers."

"That is creepy," Jared agreed. "Finish your water and let's get you to bed."

Misha and Jensen both turned to stare, their expressions a matched set of alarm teetering on something very much like hope.

"No offense to Jensen, but I'm not certain he's capable of informed consent."

"Not to mention the smell," Jared agreed. "I meant let's get him to bed in the guest room."

Jensen leaned back into the cushions and graced Jared with a blank expression that was all drunken stupor.

"Come on, I'll help you," Jared said, rising to his feet and pulling Jensen with him. Jensen promptly fell back to the sofa with a thump, eyes closed, mouth open.

"Looks like he's down for the count," Misha announced.

"No wonder you made such a brilliant detective."

There was nothing to be done about it, Jared decided. He didn't want to leave Jensen on the sofa where Sadie could come by and lick him. There was no telling what kind of diseases she was apt to pick up. He hauled Jensen up in a fireman's carry and headed toward the guest room.

"Mmm," Misha said from his spot on the sofa.

"Huh?"

"Just enjoying the view."

Jared deposited Jensen on the bed and removed his shoes while Misha brought in a couple of extra bottled waters and some Tylenol just in case. For his part, Jensen contributed some rather unattractive snoring and a line of drool down his chin.

"I'm wiped," Jared said. "Let's go to bed and do horrible things to each other."

"Twist my arm."

Jared did, but he was gentle about it. Misha was far more delicate than he'd care to admit, or maybe Jared just liked to think so. Either way, by the time they stumbled into their bedroom, there was plenty of groping going on, none of it likely to cause harm.

Misha pushed Jared to the bed and stood between his thighs, drew his own tie off and dropped it to hang loosely around Jared's neck. He pulled himself in by its ends and pressed their lips together. Jared licked his way into Misha’s mouth to deepen the kiss.

When Misha lost his balance and pushed Jared back with the force of his body falling over him, Jared dropped his hands to Misha's ass, squeezed, then drew his arms over his head so Misha could get the leverage he needed to strip Jared's shirt.

"What are you in the mood for?" Misha asked.

"Making you come so hard, you'll need an IV for a week."

"Sounds vaguely terrifying."

Jared pressed wet, open kisses along Misha's jaw and rolled him onto his back. "I'm going to..." He quickly worked loose the buttons of Misha's shirt, dropped a kiss to the pulse point at the base of his neck. "Suck you."

Misha groaned and pulled Jared in closer by the hair. It hurt a little. He didn't complain.

"Gonna take you so deep," Jared continued as he worked his way down, sliding his tongue in a long, deliberate line from Misha's chest to his stomach. "And so long." He let his breath tickle Misha's belly until it pulled a laugh. "Make you scream so loud, it'll cross state lines and be declared a federal offense."

"I'm going to let you," Misha said, rolling his hips when Jared reached for his fly. "Because I'm a humani-"

There was a noise, a low scritch-scratch at the front door, and they both went still, Jared's face perilously close to his husband's crotch. Nothing followed. Jared was on the verge of ignoring it when there was a thump and loud barks punctured the silence as Sadie rushed from her spot on the floor to the main room.

"Fuck," Jared said in unison with his husband.

Misha groaned. "I guess it's too late to hope it's nothing?"

"I'll get it."

It was only fair. Misha was a little worse for wear and flat on his back, after all.

"For God's sake, get rid of them. Especially if it's Chad."

Sadie was scratching at the door by the time Jared got there, whimpering like there was a juicy cat on the other side. He muscled her back with one hand and peered through the peep hole. The man on the other side was balding and doughy, probably someone with the wrong room.

Jared opened it. "Listen, man, it's kind of la-"

The man looked Jared in the eye, and Jared looked back, so it took just a second longer than it should for his gaze to travel down and take in the very serious gun pointed at his midsection. Jared was fond of his midsection, and became quickly determined to keep it from getting shot. Sadie apparently had a similar revelation, and maybe a more than passing familiarity with guns, so she took the opportunity to shut up and make herself scarce.

"Misha Collins here?" The man asked, his tone all business.

"I'm sorry. You must have the wrong bungalow."

"This is number twelve, right?"

"Yes, but no Misha Collins here."

"I hear he's got a husband built like a Greek statue. That's not you?"

"Well, you know…I mean, no. That's not me. Husband? Ew. Gay marriage. Yuck. Am I right?"

"Live and let live, I say."

"It's all fun and games until somebody pulls a gun, I guess."

"So, he's in the bedroom?"

"Um. No. Try bungalow ten. All kinds of late parties. Very unsavory."

"You're going to walk in front of me to the bedroom now. And if you mutter one word of warning, I’ll shoot you in the head."

"Just like that, huh?"

"Just like that."

Jared had a new philosophy: mind the man with the gun and leave the rest to God, or whoever. He walked through the door to the bedroom.

"Where is he?" The man asked.

"I told you, he's not here." Jared eyeballed the empty room and gulped. What next?

"Get down." Misha's voice was low and firm, and closer than Jared had expected.

Assuming the command was aimed at him, Jared dropped. Misha swung out from behind the door to rush their intruder. Seeing as how Misha was unarmed, the situation wasn't ideal, but Jared didn't have any better ideas so he crawled away while Misha and the man struggled for the gun.

The man gained some leverage and pushed Misha off, the weapon still clutched in his hand.

"You need to keep your nose out of Morgan's business," he said.

Jared spun around, still crouched low. The motion must have caught the man's eye because he moved his arm and Jared found himself looking directly into the barrel of the gun.

"There's just no reasoning with you, is there?" Misha said.

He went after the gun again, pushing the guy’s arm up so it wasn't aimed at Jared. Figuring it was now or never, Jared rushed the man from his crouched position. He was in the middle of a full-rush tackle when there was a flash and a noise so loud he lost the plot for a second.

 _Holy shit_ , he thought, the gun went off. Misha staggered backward as momentum carried Jared forward and he tackled the intruder to the ground. He used all his considerable weight to hold him down while Misha picked up the gun that had landed just inches away and held it to the man's head.

"Get the handcuffs," Misha said.

It was fortunate that both he and Misha were dedicated enough to authenticity that the cuffs were real and not some flimsy little feathered things from a sex shop. Jared pulled them out of the nightstand and walked back over to wrangle their intruder into a chair. That’s when he noticed Misha holding his side.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm fine. Just cuff him to the chair. Be sure to get both hands behind him."

Jared did as he was told while the guy panted heavily, his breath all cheap cigars and cheaper beer. His work done, Jared took a good look at Misha, who had backed out of the guy's reach to set the gun on the dresser. Blood seeped through the side of his white shirt in an ugly, expanding circle.

"You were shot."

"It's a scratch." Misha peeled back the shirt to get a better look. "Just a graze, really," he said, like he was calming an angry bear, or a scared one.

"Graze, my ass. You were shot."

Jared was on Misha in a flash, settling him down on the edge of the bed and peering at his wound like he knew what to do about it.

"First Aid kit," Misha said. He sounded a hell of a lot calmer than Jared felt.

"Yeah."

The sound of sirens pierced the night as Jared pulled the kit out of the bathroom cabinet and returned to douse his husband's side with rubbing alcohol. Strangely enough, Misha had been telling the truth. It really was just a graze. The medical tape he used to hold the gauze in place said _The Beverly Hills Hotel_ in big cursive letters. Nice touch.

Misha nodded his head toward the sound of the sirens. "That'll be for you," he told the intruder. "You made an awful lot of noise with that big gun of yours."

"They don't take kindly to that sort of thing at The Beverly," Jared was happy to report.

Misha was well known among the cops who showed up just a few minutes later, and they made quite a fuss. It'd been nearly three years since he gave up the private eye business in Los Angeles to marry Jared and move to Boston, but he had the kind of reputation that held.

As it turned out, Misha wasn't the only one whose reputation preceded him. They knew the guy in the handcuffs, too. His name was Vikhrov, Vik for short, a low level low life with the Russian mob.

Half an hour later, after Misha repeatedly and firmly refused all suggestions that he go to the hospital, the cops were gone and they were alone again in the aftermath. Sadie made an appearance, pretty as you please, like she hadn't disappeared at the first sign of trouble.

"Smart girl," Jared said, holding out his hand for a doggie shake.

"Speaking of…Jensen certainly made himself scarce."

Misha had a point. It was the first time Jared thought of their guest since the trouble started. They opened his bedroom door to find Jensen still dead to the world, snoring like a freight train, drool pooling on his pillow.

"Now that's a skill," Misha said.

When they climbed into bed, after a couple of glasses of wine to help them sleep, Jared made sure to switch sides so he wouldn't bump up against Misha's wound.

"You were injured in the line of fire."

"Yes, I'm very brave."

"My hero." Jared said it like it was a joke, but he kind of meant it.

"What about you? Big strong man, tackling that criminal to the ground." Misha said it like it was a joke, but Jared figured he probably kind of meant it, too.

 

Breakfast was delivered at the bright and early hour of ten a.m. Misha made a show of wincing as he poured the coffee, which Jared made a point to ignore. It wouldn't do to coddle him.

A freshly showered Jensen padded into the room wearing a fluffy hotel bathrobe and probably nothing else but the towel he was rubbing through his hair.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Jared said. "How are you feeling?"

"Good as new. Thanks for putting me up last night. I, uh, don't remember much."

"Probably for the best," Misha said. "What with Chad and all."

"How about you guys? Quiet night?"

Jared snorted. "If by quiet, you mean gangsters, guns and policemen. Around here, we just call it Thursday."

Jensen looked at him, all wide-eyed surprise, while Misha reached for the paper and read the headline out loud: "Mobster Mayhem at the Legendary Beverly Hills Hotel!"

"That's us," Jared said, delighted.

"Oh, and will you listen to this?" Misha continued. "‘Criminal at his doorstep brings world famous Private Investigator Misha Collins, currently the husband of high-society's own Jared Padalecki’, that's you honey-buns, ‘out of retirement. The bad guy didn't stand a chance.’"

 

  


[Part One](http://peggy-lane.livejournal.com/13644.html#cutid1/)

 

~*~

 

Misha wanted to call one of his contacts on the force to check in on their new friend, Vikhrov, but Jared had hijacked his cell phone shortly after breakfast. There was going to be a party that night in bungalow twelve and Jared wanted to make sure he invited every reprobate, criminal, narc, detective and client Misha had ever known in LA. He invited the caterer, too, on the condition the guy threw in an extra case of champagne.

The last minute get together didn’t come as a surprise. After his husband had invited the entire staff of The Four Seasons to brunch on their second anniversary, Misha made it a point to be prepared for anything. Anyway, he knew Jared would hand over the phone easy enough if he told him it was about the case. No way was Misha giving him that satisfaction.

There was a knock on the door and Misha looked at his watch – Jim must be early.

"How about I get it this time, cowboy?" Misha said when Jared interrupted his call to walk toward the door.

What followed wasn't an undignified foot race, not at all, so he didn't know why Jensen laughed like he did. Or why Jensen was still there at all, come to think of it. Anyway, Misha won, which was the important part. He opened the door to someone very much not Jim Beaver.

"Samantha."

"Mom," Jensen said. "What are you doing here?"

"Misha, nice to see you again." Samantha's voice was strained, the eyes she turned to her son as she walked into the room puffy and red. "Oh, Jensen, something terrible happened."

"I'm fine," Jensen assured her. "I slept through the whole thing. Didn't even hear the gun go off."

"What?"

"That's an impressive sleeper you've got there," Jared told her.

"Gun?"

"Mom, this is Jared Padalecki-Collins."

"Collins-Padalecki. Nice to meet you, ma'am."

"Yes, of course." Samantha didn't take notice of Jared's outstretched hand as her gaze traveled the room. "Nice to meet you, too. I actually came to see Misha."

The Samantha Ferris Morgan Pellegrino Pileggi Sheppard of Misha's memories was cool as a cucumber. Sure, she'd been bitter when Misha first met her. Who wouldn't be? Jeff's blatant affair with Julia Wolf would have sent any wife over the edge. But Samantha never let 'em see her sweat; she took out her pound of flesh in the court settlement and walked away with her head held high.

Misha led her to the sofa. "What happened?"

"It was horrible. She was dead and I found her, just lying there, shot. There was so much blood, and it was-" Samantha buried her face in her hands as a sob choked the words in her throat.

Jared set a glass of juice in front of her. "Oh my God, who?"

"Julia Wolf. I found her in her apartment last night. Murdered."

Jensen dropped down next to his mother. "What were you doing at Julia's?"

"She called me out of the blue," Samantha said. "I hadn't talked to that woman for over ten years. Never wanted to. But she said it was about Jeffrey and that if I cared about my son's father, not to mention, well…"

"Not to mention what?" Misha prompted.

"His money," Samantha admitted. "I don't care about that. My alimony ended years ago when I remarried. But Julia was insistent, so I went. I knew how desperate you are to find him, Jen."

Jensen put an arm around Samantha and pulled her close, the perfect tableau of a son comforting his mother. Misha had to wonder if it wasn't just a little too perfect.

"Cynic."

There Jared went, reading his mind again. And from clear across the room, too.

Misha pulled a chair over to face Samantha and used his very serious private detective voice. "What time did Julia call you?"

"It must have been around five-thirty."

"Was that before or after you saw Jensen?"

"What?"

Jensen patted her arm. "I told him we talked yesterday afternoon, Mom. Remember?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Um, after. It was after Jensen left."

"And what time did you arrive at Julia's?"

"About seven-thirty, I guess. I told all this to the police last night. I shouldn’t have gone."

Misha turned his attention to Jensen. "And what time did you meet Chad last night?"

"Seven."

Samantha's posture went from wilted and boneless to ramrod straight in a hurry. "Why does that matter?"

Misha looked at Jensen. Jared was pacing the room in a loop, slowly and quietly, his version of unobtrusive.

"Because he's trying to figure out if I did it," Jensen said. "Isn't that right?"

Misha didn't bother to deny it. "Where did you go after you left your mother's last night?"

Jensen paused, maybe a little long for comfort.

"I'm sure he has an alibi," Jared said.

Jensen slumped. "No. I just went back to my apartment and weighed the pros and cons of spending the rest of the night with Chad."

"And the pros won out?"

"That may be the greatest mystery of all," Jared murmured.

"He's all right," Jensen said. "Crap golfer. He said he could get us into the VIP room at The Pit."

Jared stopped pacing and leaned against Misha's chair. "Did he?"

"No. He got us bounced after an hour."

"That sounds about right," Misha said.

Jensen leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees and pinned Misha with an imploring gaze. Those eyes of his were quite a gift. "You don't really think I did it, do you?"

"Oh, come on," Samantha said. "That's absurd."

Misha was blunt. "Nobody would have more to gain from Jeff's death than Jensen. In fact, he's the most obvious suspect."

Jared planted his ass on the arm of Misha's chair and pouted. "But that's just boring."

"Well in that case-"

There was another knock at the door. Jared laid a hand on Misha's shoulder. "I've got it this time."

Misha grunted his protest but Jared waved him off and opened the door with a flourish, "Grand Central Station!"

Misha peered around the back of his chair to find that it was Jim Beaver this time, all business in an ill-fitting suit and tie.

"You must be Jim," Jared said. "Can I take your jacket?"

"No, thanks. I don't have long."

Jim was something of an aberration among the lawyer class of Los Angeles. Oklahoma through and through, he never did look comfortable among the town's slick, Ivy League lawyers. And that's why they never saw him coming. He'd worked for Jeffrey Dean Morgan since the man filed his first patent for a microscopic computer chip back when taffeta was still in vogue.

Everyone said their hellos – handshakes, good to see you again, it's a hell of a thing, isn't it? Jim accepted a glass of water from Jared and took one of the chairs across from the sofa.

"I just got back from the police station," he said.

Misha perked up. "In regards to…?"

"It's so hard to keep track," Jared said.

"I was checking in to see if they’d found anything on Julia’s killer. Samantha called me last night when they questioned her." Jim took a drink and looked at Misha. "The forensics came back and as it turns out, the gun that killed her is the same one used to shoot you last night."

"Vik killed Julia?" Jared's voice came out in a breathless rush as he literally clasped his hand to his chest. Misha threw him a look. That was enough to fuel some Grade-A teasing for at least a year.

"Looks like it."

"But why?" Samantha asked.

"He was a hired gun," Misha said.

"Yep," Jim said. "Julia and Jeff, well-."

Jensen leaned forward. "Julia and Jeff, what?"

"They had some…unpleasant…dealings with the Russian mafia. A guy named Novikov. Vik  
works for him."

"I can't believe it," Samantha said.

"Julia had connections." Jim ran his fingers under his collar like it was choking him. "And Jeff didn't have many scruples about who he sold his tech to before it went on the market."

Misha shook his head. "So he sold it to the mob?"

"I think he fell into it because of Julia, to tell the truth. It was probably a thrill for him, a profitable one."

Samantha stood suddenly. "I’m sorry," she said. "This is too much. I need to get home. Mark will be worried."

Jensen walked her to the door and leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek.

"I know better than to tell you to stay out of this," she said.

"I need to know where Dad is," Jensen told her. "If he’s still alive."

"Just keep your head down, okay?"

Jensen shut the door after her and turned to lean back against it.

"And then there were four," Jared intoned.

Sadie picked that moment to march in from the bedroom, leash clenched firmly between her teeth.

"Okay, five." Jared looked at Jensen. "Wanna help me walk her?"

"Sure."

The three of them took off, Sadie in the lead with her leash pulled out in front of Jared as far as she could stretch it. Misha figured it was fifty-fifty whether Jared would be interrogating Jensen or 'comforting' him. If he could manage both, he probably would. Jared was nothing if not a dedicated multitasker.

"What a family, huh?" Jim said.

Misha poured himself a drink. "You could say that. Kind of odd that Samantha called you last night, isn't it?"

"Not really. A couple of years after the divorce, she needed a good lawyer and she came to me. I do work for her here and there, basically whenever it's time for a new prenup."

"That’s awfully forgiving of her. Didn't you introduce Jeff to Julia back in the day?"

"Back in the day is right. That was over ten years ago and if I knew then what kind of person Julia was, I wouldn't have, believe me. She wasn't Jeff's first affair and I didn't figure she'd be the last."

"They did have staying power."

"No accounting for taste, I guess. Anyway, Samantha needs a good lawyer every couple of years more than she needs to nurse old grudges."

"True enough," Misha agreed.

"So, what do you think's going on?"

"I haven't decided," Misha said. "What about Morgan? Do you think he's still with us?"

Jim looked around like Jeff might walk out from behind a potted plant or something. "I don't see him," he said dryly.

Misha acknowledged the joke with a sideways tilt of his head. "Do you think he's still on this astral plane?"

"Yesterday, my answer would have been yes. Now, I'm not so sure."

"His mob ties didn't make you more suspicious before now?"

"To be honest, no. He and Julia had a system, it seemed pretty simple. Once I found out about it, I pretended that I hadn't and that was that."

"Sounds vaguely feasible."

Jim chuckled. He was the type who seemed to find everything amusing, like he'd been there and done that, but wasn’t opposed to revisiting.

"What do you think?" Jim asked again.

"The cops are going to figure it was a mob hit. Unless Jeffrey Dean Morgan shows up, they'll decide he was killed, too. Done and dusted."

"And you're not buying it?"

"It's a little cut-and-dry for my taste."

"That's what makes you a dangerous man," Jim said with a smile.

"I'll drink to that."

Jim didn't stay long. When the boys returned with Sadie, they were laughing like old friends. Misha greeted his husband with a kiss and couldn't help but notice Jensen watching, openly curious, maybe interested? If the guy turned out to be a killer, it would be an absolute shame.

 

Later that night, and the party was in full swing. As expected, half the criminals, reformed and otherwise, and half the cops in Los Angeles were there to partake. Loud arguments broke out, harsh words said, and two minutes later you'd look over at the same group to find them hugging it out. Jared had a real gift for party diplomacy. It probably had something to do with the substance in the brownies.

Chad was in the corner, hanging on Jensen, handsy bastard. Not that Jensen seemed to mind, though Misha caught him looking a little forlorn from time to time. Jared made a point of paying him lots of visits, teasing Chad into an unattractive pout and offering Jensen his own brand of sympathy, which involved lots of Jared-style bear hugs, always a crowd pleaser. Jensen ate it up with a spoon, and looked over Jared's shoulder to Misha with a wink.

There was a bang at the door loud enough to be heard over the noise. Misha could tell right away it was the police – it had that certain quality. He opened the door to a plain clothes detective and two uniformed beat cops.

"You Misha Collins?"

"That's me, Detective. What can I do for you? And don't try the brownies."

"It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I'm Detective Williams. We talked on the phone this afternoon."

"Nice to meet you in the flesh, Detective. Please don’t call me sir."

"What can I say? Your reputation precedes you."

"If you believe half of it, I question whether you’re fit for your job."

"I don't believe half of anything," Detective Williams assured him. "Listen, we turned Vikhrov this afternoon."

"You don't say?"

"He said he'll give up Novikov tonight."

"The man in charge, huh?"

"That'd be the one," Williams confirmed. "Turns out there’s no love lost there."

"He wasn’t happy with the benefits plan?"

"The way Vikhrov talks, you’d think Novikov slept with his sister and ran over his dog."

"Or vice-versa."

"Something like that."

"And you're telling me this because...?"

"Well, according to Vik, he'll only tell us if you tag along. My partner's back at the station with him now. When he knows you're on board, Vik will give up the location."

"And you actually want me to come along?"

"Don't see why not. I know you've got a personal interest."

Misha looked beyond Williams to the two guys in uniform. They were looking back and forth, from the wild party going on behind him to Misha and back again. So, this was the big perk to a good reputation and his name in the paper: invitations to potentially dangerous ride-alongs with wet-behind-the-ears rookies.

"Sure, why not," Misha said. "It’s not like anything could possibly go wrong."

He caught Jared's eye and waved him over. Jared invited the men to join them, the more the merrier, but took their refusal with his usual good grace. He took Misha's plans to join them with a little less grace.

"I don't want you throwing yourself in front of any more bullets." When Jared used his serious voice, Misha usually listened. He had a damn good point, after all.

"I'm not too fond of the idea, myself," Misha said. "But I'm in it up to my eyeballs already, and I've got a feeling about this. I need to see it through."

"You'll be careful?"

"I'll be fine. No unnecessary risks here."

What could Jared say to that? Underneath all that silliness, he had a protective streak about a mile wide. Still, at the end of the day, he wasn't going to hold Misha back and Misha knew it.

"You should take Sadie with you," Jared said. "For protection."

"That hound couldn't protect me from a milk bone."

"Just take her, okay? For me. She doesn’t like parties anyway."

"Yeah, she's a pooper, all right."

 

When they were in the car, Williams gave his partner back at the station a call so she could put Vikhrov on the phone. Misha had to push Sadie's helicopter tail out of his face to press the phone to his ear and assure the man who shot him that he was along for the ride.

"I figured you would," Vik said. "You seem like the curious type."

"Did you figure that out before you threatened me or after you pointed a gun at my husband's face?"

Vik let that slide and, true to his word, gave up his boss's plans for the evening. That was the dream, anyway. It would be a serious bummer if it turned out to be a lie.

Truth or not, the story made sense: Novikov was going with some of his men to Jeff's lab, probably for some last minute poaching, then it was off to his private jet and a one way trip home to Mother Russia.

By the time they reached the building, a SWAT team was already in place. The LAPD wasn't taking any chances – bringing down Novikov's operation would be a bona fide victory and those didn't come along every day. The team took their positions, both in the building and in strategic locations nearby. Misha went in with Detective Williams.

The building was dark and empty, long institutional corridors leading to cold, stark labs. It was the kind of place where a speck of dust could ruin a day's work, so a bunch of cops, a retired private eye with a bad attitude, and his hyperactive mutt was a lot like mud on white carpet.

Misha and his new best friends hid behind some cabinets in Jeff's personal laboratory to wait. There was a time when Misha could sit on stakeout for hours without losing focus, but those days were over. They'd been there just long enough for him to get to the wrong side of antsy when they heard the sound of a lock sliding open and Russian voices filtering through. And that was that.

All the typical activity that accompanies such a bust proceeded as one would expect. "Drop it!" "Stop right there!" "You have the right to remain silent…" Misha had heard it all before.

It agitated Sadie, though, and in all the commotion, she pulled away from Misha to get as far away as possible. That girl was all flight, no fight, Misha thought, as he followed her down the corridor to a part of the building that had undergone some recent construction. He found her in one of the newer labs, nosing and scratching at a spot under a big table.

He snapped the leash on her, but she resisted until Misha figured there might be something to it. The table made a terrible racket as it scraped across the floor when he pushed it until Misha was able to make out what was underneath. The concrete under the table was obviously a more recent addition than the rest of the smoother floor around it.

Well, that was different.

When Detective Williams called his name, Misha hollered back, "Looks like we’ve got more than a patent pending on our hands."

One hour and two big beefy guys with jackhammers later, they dug up a solid steel box, a man-sized one in fact. With a man in it. Misha winced when they pried it open and he got a look at the guy. He was pretty well preserved, but decaying all the same. Misha was no medical examiner, but he figured even a layman would have no trouble diagnosing the cause of death as gun-shot wound to the face.

And the face? What was left of it, anyway, looked an awfully lot like Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

"We'll run some tests to confirm it," Williams said. "But I'd say this is pretty cut and dry."

"You're thinking Novikov had Morgan killed, and came back to the scene of the crime?"

"Maybe he planned to move the body now that people are nosing around into Jeff's whereabouts. Or maybe he came back here to get some last minute theft in like Vik said."

"Makes sense." But Misha was distracted. He found himself looking closely at the body, now laid out on a gurney for transport – at what remained of the guy's face. Misha felt a niggle of doubt, a flash memory of someone else, another face. It couldn't be. Could it?

Misha took a good, long look at the man's hands. His fingers were tight, the skin and muscle retracted, making the nails seem longer, a ghoulish fact of death. It made fingernails seem like they were still growing, but he doubted it made them seem smoother.

"Do yourself a favor, Detective Williams," he said. "Put a rush on those tests."

 

~*~

 

Another night, another party at Bungalow Twelve, and everybody had a role to play. In the part of generous host: Jared Collins-Padalecki. He'd been having fun with the whole _Where In the World is Jeffrey Dean Morgan?_ adventure, of course. It was like a game of Clue come to life, the kind of thing he'd expected to happen more often when he married a world-class Private Detective.

Jared looked at the printed place-setting cards in his hand and down at the family-sized dining table the hotel had sent over that afternoon and heaved a sigh. "When this is over, let's check out of this dive and take the plane to Fiji."

"I thought you liked it here," Misha said. He was wearing a dark suit and tie with a crisp black shirt, all done up and good enough to eat. Jared dearly hoped there'd be time for that later.

"I do, but this vacation has been exhausting. I think we need a break."

Misha came over to stand behind him and put his arms around Jared's waist to pull him in tight. "You've been great. Thanks for making me take the case."

"And have you solved the crime, Miss Marple?"

"Not quite, but don't tell our guests that."

"Well, if you haven't solved it, why have you looked like the cat that ate the canary since you got back last night? And who have you been on the phone with all day?"

"I solved one mystery, just not the big one."

"And?"

"You said you wanted to wait to find out with everyone else, didn't want me to ruin the suspense."

"Just tell me it's not Jensen?"

"I can't do that, sweetness."

"Sweetness?"

"What? You know I think you're delicious."

"Okay, then. Help me with these place sittings. Who goes where?"

"I will be at the head of the table and as my ever-loving and faithful husband, you will, of course, be seated to my right."

Jared placed the little cards with their names in the designated spots while Misha walked to the other side of the table.

"Jim will sit at my left," Misha said, holding his hand out for the card.

Jared handed it over and set another card down. "And Jensen will sit at my right."

"What a shock."

"We should invite him to Fiji."

At Misha's look, Jared shrugged. "If he's not locked up for patricide, I mean."

"Deal."

"Although," Jared said as he waved the card with Chad's name, "he may have other plans."

"I shudder to think."

Jared set Chad's place setting to Jensen's right. Chad owed him one.

"Okay, next," Misha said. "Hand me Samantha's. She'll sit here next to Jim."

"And next to Chad?"

"Vincent Sheppard."

"The serial killer obsessed stepbrother. Got it."

"We'll sit the sleazy stepfather next to his wife."

Jared handed over the card for Mark Sheppard and awaited further instruction.

"And next to Vincent, Novikov."

"Isn't he indisposed?" Jared asked, holding his hands in front of him like they were in cuffs to indicate just what he meant by indisposed.

"The cops are letting him and Vik out tonight for good behavior."

Some level of concern must have shown on Jared's face because Misha was quick to reassure him. "They'll be well guarded by the cops with them and the undercover guys who are posing as part of the catering crew, don't worry."

"Oh, I'm not worried. I just don't have little cards for them."

"We'll put them on the far end of the table, across from each other."

"Okay, who's between Mark Sheppard and Vik?"

"Detective Williams. He's awfully curious. I'd hate to leave him out."

"Plus, he's armed."

"Just in case."

"Looks like that's it, then."

Jared surveyed the table, everything laid out just so; servers were on standby and the food was on warmers. Some of the staff was packing heat, so that was different, but not entirely without precedence.

There was an edge of nervous excitement among the guests when they began to filter in. Jensen was first, and while it was clear to Jared that he was upset, he was doing a good job of keeping it together. The fact that he looked like something out of the pages of GQ in his dinner suit didn’t hurt. When he learned the night before that his father's body had been found, he'd been stoic, too stoic – he'd agreed to come to dinner, and to get his family to show up, too, but he was clearly in shock. Jared just wanted to feed him milk and cookies and make it all better.

"What's the plan?" Jensen asked.

Misha's expression was neutral. "Dinner?"

"Do you know who killed my father, Misha?"

Misha stepped up to Jensen and looked him in the eye, head cocked in that way he had. It was a look that meant business. Did Misha see a killer or a friend in need of help? Even Jared couldn't say.

"By the end of the night," Misha said. "We’ll all know."

Jensen looked away, swallowed hard, and then he sort of, well, lunged forward to draw Misha up in a big, not entirely appropriate, embrace.

"Thank you," Jensen said on a whisper before looking to Jared. "Thank you both so much."

"Let's wait until everything shakes out for the thank yous."

Samantha was the next to arrive, sleazy husband and creepy step-kid in tow. They were suitably sleazy and suitably creepy.

"This won't last too long, I hope," Mark Sheppard said when Jared shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you, too."

"I think it'll be interesting," Vincent assured him. "I look forward to picking Detective Collins' brain. He's got so much experience with the criminal element."

Jared backed away a step. "The criminal element?"

"That's just how he talks," Jensen said. His face was twisted into a grimace and Jared squeezed his arm in a silent show of support. His family really was sort of horrifying.

Chad entered the fray with his usual class and discretion. "What's up bitches? Let's party!" He walked over to Jensen, gave him a manly half-hug and reached around to squeeze his ass. Jensen jolted a little in surprise but didn't move away. Maybe he was a masochist of some sort; that could be fun, Jared thought, though not with Chad in the picture.

"I see you have a new little friend," Mark leered at Jensen.

"Uh, yeah," Jensen said. "I'll just be at the bar." He walked away from his current stepfather as quick as he could, Chad at his heels, and poured himself a double of the first thing he saw.

Jared looked over at Misha, who was saying something to Vincent along the lines of _"Dexter isn't altogether the best example of…"_ But his eyes tracked Mark and it was evident from his calculating gaze that he’d seen the little exchange between him and Jensen.

If he were playing amateur sleuth himself, Jared would put his money on Mark Sheppard. With Jeff out of the picture, he'd find a way to get his hands on Jensen's newly inherited fortune, even if it meant getting Jensen out of the way, too. There was money, a beautiful woman making questionable decisions, a gorgeous victim, and a double homicide. What could be more obvious?

Misha did that twitchy thing with his eyes that meant he was trying to get Jared's attention. When he had it, he just shook his head. Fine, Jared thought. No guessing. He stuck his tongue out and went to answer the knock at the door.

It was Jim Beaver, dressed in the same bargain basement suit and tie from the day before.

"Jim, nice to see you again. Welcome to the madhouse."

"What's Misha up to?"

"Oh, about two gin and tonics."

"I've got work to do." Jim's tone was brisk. "Hope we can get this show on the road."

"Everybody’s in such a hurry," Jared said. "I’m almost offended."

Misha came over to shake Jim's hand. "Jim, glad you could make it. Just a little dinner party among friends."

Jim looked to Samantha and Mark and cut his gaze to the other side of the room where Jensen was throwing back shots like it was his job while Chad poured. "Some friends you've got there."

"You haven't seen the half of it," Misha told him.

As if on cue, another loud knock sounded at the door.

"How did you do that?" Jared asked.

"Why don't you go make sure they're ready to serve dinner?" Misha said. "I'll make sure our newest arrivals are cuffed."

Jim’s eyes widened. "Cuffed?"

"Don't worry," Jared said as he walked away. "We have extras if you didn't bring your own."

Jared did his duty to make sure everything was in serving order but he kept his eye on the door. As expected, the latest guests included Detective Williams, his two uniformed friends from the previous evening, their old friend Vik, and another guy in cuffs, who Jared figured must be Novikov. Unless there was another handcuffed guest he didn't know about, which was entirely possible.

When Jared joined the small group, Misha was talking to Vik, his tone dry enough to spark a flame. "It's fine, thanks for asking. Guess it's good for me you're a bad shot."

Novikov spit something at Vik in Russian. Jared didn't understand a word of it but it didn’t sound nice.

"Don't worry about these two," Detective Williams said to Jared. "They won't be causing any trouble tonight."

Jared just nodded and cleared his throat. "Dinner's ready," he told the group. "Please take your seats."

Everyone looked around at everyone else, taking their own personal inventories of the other guests, and sort of just… _stood there_ …for a short but uncomfortable period of time. Jared was about to repeat himself when they snapped out of it en masse and made their way to the table. The cops were pretty rough with Novikov and Vik and Jared threw them a look.

"Go easy, okay? I have a reputation to uphold."

"Reputation," Novikov said, his heavily accented speech about what Jared expected. "Worthless gay socialite with stupid hair, that reputation?"

"I was talking about my parties. They’re legendary," Jared said as he walked away. "But, thank you."

"Welcome to dinner," Misha said, when everyone was in place. "I believe they're serving grilled salmon tonight, a specialty here at the hotel. Also, as you all know, a body was found last night in Jeffrey Dean Morgan's lab." He paused, clearly for effect. "And the killer is at this table right now."

All eyes turned to the very obvious criminals in handcuffs.

"And it’s not either of them," Misha said.

Jared ignored the collective gasp around the table and waved to one of the servers. "You can serve the fish."

Misha slumped back in his chair while he took in everyone's reactions. To anyone else, he would appear casual, almost bored, but Jared could tell he was completely alert, all coiled energy, his eyes dancing, that mousetrap mind of his spinning. He was loving this – the mystery, the room full of distressed murder suspects, the whole big ball of wrong. Jared grinned and put a hand on his thigh under the table as the plates were set out.

"Are you sure?" Jensen asked. "Someone here murdered my father?"

"No," Misha said. "Not your father."

Samantha leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

"This is ridiculous," Mark said. "What are you up to?"

Vincent looked at Novikov, who sat to his right. "This is fascinating, don't you think?"

Novikov grunted.

"Jeffrey Dean Morgan isn't dead," Misha announced.

That certainly had the desired reaction.

"What?"

"Are you sure?"

"What are you trying to pull?"

"How could that be?"

"Well, if that's not Jeff’s body, then where the hell is he?"

Misha scanned the table, studying everyone’s reactions with a cold, analytical gaze. Jared kept his eyes on Misha, and resisted the urge to slow clap.

After things calmed, Misha turned to Jim and answered the last question first. "He's on his way back to Los Angeles. I talked to him this morning."

"Is he okay?" Jensen asked.

"He's fine. He's been in Spain."

"Spain?" Samantha asked.

"Spain," Misha repeated.

"I'll kill him," Jensen said.

It was a lot of shock for one man to take. Missing dad, dead dad, back-to-life-dad, all in the course of a couple of days. Jared put an arm around Jensen's shoulders and gave him a squeeze.

Chad clumsily patted Jensen's knee. "Guess that inheritance will have to wait, huh?"

Jensen responded by scooting his chair away from Chad, leaning just-this-side of too close to Jared. Whatever the circumstances, Jared always appreciated Jensen's lack of boundaries.

"So, who was the corpse in the lab?" Vincent asked, all morbid curiosity.

Misha squeezed lemon juice onto his fish. "That one’s pretty obvious."

"Javier," Samantha said. She turned to Detective Williams. "How could you make such a mistake?"

"We didn't. Misha figured it out last night."

"Manicure," Misha said, as if that explained anything.

"We had to wait for the DNA tests to be sure," Williams finished.

Mark made a disgusted noise and threw his napkin on the table. "But you said it was Jeff. It was in the paper."

Detective Williams was unapologetic. "Don't believe everything you read."

"We had our reasons," Misha said. He looked to Jensen. "I am sorry."

"And the tests were conclusive?" Jim asked.

"Yes."

"Unfuckingbelievable." Mark's voice was loud and shrill. "Here I thought we were finally free of that pompous jackass, maybe Jenny here could loosen the purse strings a bit, help his mom."

Samantha gasped. "Mark!"

"What? It's not like you didn't think it."

"I certainly did not," Samantha said. "That's my son's father you're talking about."

"Oh, yes. Poor little Jenny."

Jensen snapped out of his shock, but disregarded Mark's distasteful commentary.

"But why would anyone kill Javier?" He asked Misha.

"They wouldn't," Misha said. "As a matter of fact, I'd bet my husband's trust fund the killer didn't know that they had until about two minutes ago."

"The killer got the wrong man and didn't even realize it," Jared said as realization dawned.

"If Misha's telling the truth," Jim said.

"No word of a lie has ever passed these lips," Misha declared.

Jared kept his eye-roll on the inside and kicked Misha’s shin under the table.

"There was that whole thing where you let us believe Jeff was dead," Samantha reminded him.

"A technicality."

Novikov spoke for the first time since the bombshell had dropped. "So, who did it, then?"

"Hold your horses. I'm getting to it."

"Excuse me," Novikov replied, his words heavily accented but precise, "but since you've already proclaimed my innocence, yet I'm still in handcuffs, I'd like to get to the end of this little production as quickly as possible."

"We've still got plenty on you," Detective Williams reminded him, sounding none too pleased. "Don't make travel plans just yet."

Novikov grunted. "That is, as Detective Padalecki-Collins says, a technicality."

Jared resisted the urge to get into the whole Collins-Padalecki debate while Chad leaned back in his chair and made a show of exhaling a gigantic yawn. "Oh, get on with it Misha. I'm bored and this salmon tastes like cardboard."

Jared shot Chad a sharp look over Jensen's head, though he secretly agreed that the meal wasn't quite up to the hotel's usual standards.

"What do you think, Vincent?" Misha asked.

Vincent was busy staring at the mobsters, no doubt trying to divine some insight into the criminal mind. He cut his gaze back to Misha with a pleased grin.

"I don't know. What did Mr. Morgan say? Does he know?"

"Good question," Misha replied. "He found Javier's body in the lab a few months ago. Jeff was supposed to be there earlier that night, and he was pretty upset to realize that was supposed to be half of his face splattered on the wall. He decided to leave before they could figure out they had the wrong guy, took Javier’s ID with him, and high-tailed it out of there." Misha turned to Jensen. "He was going to come back when things shook out and the killer was found. He just didn't know the killer would come back and hide the body so well."

"How did you find him?" Jensen asked.

"He found me. Finally called this morning when he read in the paper that the killers were in custody."

"But they're not," Jared said.

"Not officially, no."

Jim cleared his throat. "Does Jeff know who meant to kill him?"

"He doesn't know," Mark said. "If he knew who was out to kill him, he wouldn’t have run away like a little girl. He would have turned them in."

Misha nodded slowly, like he was turning Mark's words over in his mind and finding no fault in them. He was kind of Buddha-like, Jared thought – a hot, lickable Buddha.

"Is that true?" Jim asked.

Misha ignored the question for one of his own. "I've got a question," he said. "For you, Vik."

"Shoot."

Jared glared at him. "So to speak."

"Who hired you to kill Julia Wolf and shoot me?"

"You know who I work for," he said, looking across the table at Novikov

"All right," Misha said. "Novikov, what was your relationship with Julia Wolf?"

"I’m afraid I don’t know anybody by that name," Novikov replied. He didn’t bother to try sounding believable.

"A little more than professional?"

"If I knew her, it probably would be," Novikov said.

"Where would that leave Jeff?"

"A bit of a nuisance, I’d imagine."

"Maybe she got sick of sharing the profits of your little black market deals with him," Jim said to Novikov. "Maybe you did, too."

"I may not have the highest opinion of our handcuffed friends here, but they wouldn't have botched a hit like that," Misha said. "Killing and burying the wrong guy? They have some standards."

"Thank you," Vik and Novikov said in unison.

"You're welcome. But I've got to say, Vik, killing Julia and shooting me with the same gun was a little sloppy."

"I was in a hurry."

"I don't imagine Julia hired you to kill her?" Misha said.

Vik didn’t dignify that with an answer.

"And it wasn't Novikov."

"Exactly right," Novikov said.

"What makes you so sure?" Vik asked.

"It's sloppy. You may do sloppy sometimes, when you’re in a hurry, but it’s not his style."

"Then what was he doing in the lab?" Vik asked.

"You're stalling," Jared said.

Misha gave him an approving nod. "My husband's right, Vik. You're stalling."

"I don't know." Vik spoke so low his voice was nearly inaudible.

"What's that?"

"I don't know who hired me," Vik repeated. "Julia had some kind of secret partner. She knew I had issues with Novikov. She did too, so she asked me if I'd do some work for her through this friend of hers. He contacted me a few days later, but it was anonymous. I never met him or got his name. Just his money."

"You sure it was a he?" Misha asked.

"I guess anything is possible."

Jared was more confused by the minute. "So, wait. Did Julia kill Jeff? I mean, Javier. Whoever."

"She knew who did, at the very least," Misha said.

Jensen made an impatient noise. "Oh, for God's sake. Who?"

Misha winked at Jared and let his eyes roam the table again, taking in all the guests one by one, piercing them with that intense blue gaze. Jared didn't envy them. He'd been on the receiving end of that look, usually after the receipt of a particularly daunting credit card bill.

"Samantha," Misha said when his gaze fell to her. "You certainly left here in a hurry yesterday when Jeff's mob connections came up, said you needed to get to your husband. Any reason why the mob would make you think of Mark?"

Mark's chair fell to the floor with a thud as he stood. "I won't put up with this," he said. "Come on, Vincent, we're leaving right now."

"But I want to stay to the end," Vincent whined. It was definitely hard to believe the guy was pushing thirty.

"We're not going anywhere," Samantha said, her voice firm. "Are you accusing Mark of murder?"

"I think he's capable."

"And then what?" She asked. "You think he'd kill Jensen next, for money?"

"It seems like a natural progression."

When she turned to Mark, her voice was arctic. "Did you do it?"

Underneath the table, Jensen reached for Jared's hand and squeezed it hard.

"How could you ask me that?"

Jensen's voice was nearly as cold as his mother's. "Just answer the question."

"No, I didn't do it, you ridiculous twat."

"Hey, watch the name-calling," Jared said.

Jensen's lip curled and his voice dripped sarcasm. "Well, if you say so."

Misha looked to his left, at Jim, and Jared noticed for the first time that the older man was in a sweat, running his fingers under his collar, his anxious gaze travelling the room.

"You all right, Jim?" Misha asked.

"I'll be better when this dog and pony show is over."

"Good idea. Vik?"

"What?"

"Who hired you to kill Julia Wolf and shoot me?" Misha asked again, like he had all the time in the world to keep asking the same old thing.

"I told you. I don't know."

"Come on, Vik. It's over. You can stop protecting him now."

"If I knew, I'd tell you."

"No. You'd try to pin it on Novikov, there, which is what you tried to do before your story changed."

"I don't know."

"You do know, and I know you know, and the lie detector test downtown is going to know, too."

"Don't talk, Vikhrov." Jim's voice rang out sharp and loud. "Those things aren't admissible."

All eyes turned to Jim. Jared suppressed his natural reaction, which would have been something along the lines of standing and pointing a finger at Jim shouting 'you did it, you did it'. Instead he turned his gaze from an equally shocked Jensen to Misha, who was managing to make smug look sexy.

"You offering your legal services to Vik?" Misha asked.

"I'm just saying."

Misha exhaled a deep breath and nodded his head toward one of the undercover cops. "It's over, Jim. You know he'll give you up to cut a deal."

"Listen-" Vik started, but Jim cut him off.

"Don't say a word," Jim said as he pushed back from the table. "Not a damn word, you hear me?"

Detective Williams was on his feet and before Jared knew it, Jim was trying to bolt, but the cops were on top of it and had pinned him down, face first next to a plate of salmon, in no time.

"You have the right to remain silent…"

"Jim?" Jensen asked. "Why?"

"I'm going to have to take the fifth on this, kid," Jim said. He seemed oddly calm, Oklahoma good ol' boy again, same as ever.

"There was big money and a beautiful woman," Mark said. "Why the hell not?"

The guy might be a slimy gold-digger, Jared couldn't say for sure, but he probably had some insight. And that seemed as good an explanation as any.

When Jim was led out in cuffs, followed closely by his fellow inmates, nobody seemed more deflated than Samantha. She shook off her husband to make her goodbyes, kissed Jensen on the cheek and shook hands with the Collins-Padaleckis.

"Rough night, huh?" Jared asked.

"Don't mind me," Samantha said. "I'm just annoyed I have to find a new divorce lawyer."

"Oh, come on, baby," Mark said. "Don't be like that."

"Jim may be in prison," Jensen told him. "But that prenup is airtight."

"Fuck you, pretty boy."

The room cleared quickly after that. Chad tried to hang on for a while, but at the end of the day, there was, as always, somewhere else he needed to be.

Jensen stayed. He offered to help with the clean-up, which was ridiculous. Jared paid good money to make sure that was someone else's job. Sadie didn’t join them until they’d poured the wine and settled down to unwind.

They were loose and lazy in the wake of so much adrenaline, but Jensen wasn’t done with it yet. "I still have a lot of questions."

Misha smiled. "Well, I've got some answers and what I don't know I can make up."

"I can live with that."

"All's well that ends well," Jared said.

Jensen looked at him. "Or in bitterness, death, and chaos."

"Or in Fiji," Jared said.

"Is that an invitation, Collins-Padalecki?" Jensen's grin was big and goofy, nothing like his practiced eyelash gaze or the obvious Hollywood smile.

Jared nodded and smiled back, waited for Misha to correct the name, but Misha was far too pleased with himself, and far too deep into his wine glass, to care. "The door's always open, Ackles."

"Fiji it is."

 

~*~

 

When Jeffrey Dean Morgan returned to Los Angeles, his son was nowhere to be found.

Jensen settled back in his seat on board the private Padalecki jet to watch Misha and Jared play a spirited, and filthy, game of Scrabble. They were kind of geeky, kind of gorgeous, and definitely Jensen's idea of a good time. He saw bright days and hot nights ahead in Fiji.

As Misha had explained after sitting in on the police interrogation, Jim and Julia had worked together for years behind Jeff's back. When Jeff figured out that Julia was involved with another man and, more importantly, that man had siphoned off more than his fair share of the profits, he'd been furious. Julia told Jim, Jim went to 'take care of the situation', and Javier Bardim had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Jim was a smart man, just not smart enough to double-check the body. If he'd had a choice, Jim said, he wouldn't have killed Jeff. Since he'd gone to the trouble though, he'd exercised his existing power of attorney to access the Morgan funds. He could have lived off it for years if Jensen hadn't started nosing around and Julia hadn't gotten antsy.

Jensen was finding it hard to forgive his father for making him worry like that, but that was a bridge he’d cross later.

"A-ha!" Jared said, big voice, unhinged grin, arms raised in triumph. "Yahtzee!"

Misha rolled his eyes and looked to Jensen, his expression speaking volumes – Can you believe this guy? Isn't he wonderful?

"It's Scrabble, honey-buns," Misha said. "There is no Yahtzee."

"Whatever, dude." Jared walked over to sit next to Jensen, oh-so-casually dropped his hand to Jensen’s knee and gave a light squeeze. Jensen felt a small thrill at the touch. "We make our own rules."

Jensen smiled, let his legs slide apart, just a little, and raised his glass to them both.

"I'll drink to that."

**Author's Note:**

> There aren't enough thanks in the world for my wonderful beta, greybhan311. She's the best! My eternal apologies to Samantha Ferris for making her old enough to be Jensen's mother. Since Supernatural already made JDM old enough to play his father, I consider myself off the hook with that one.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] The Dead Ringer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/784712) by [exmanhater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmanhater/pseuds/exmanhater)




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